June Blossoms
by KittyMatador
Summary: When June Cleaver's friend Donna Stone talks her into taking a writing class from Rob Petry, the modest housewife breaks out of her shell.


Page 16

June Blossoms

"Do you ever get tired of being a housewife, June?" Donna Stone asked, looking sideways over the delicate china cup. She took a sip.

June Cleaver, who was about to sip her own coffee, stopped abruptly and stared at her friend.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Just that. Do you get bored with your role in life?"

June sipped her coffee anxiously, afraid to answer. "Do _you_?" she finally responded.

"That's not fair. I asked you first," Donna said. "But, yes, I get tired of being a housewife almost every day."

Mrs. Cleaver exhaled loudly. "Me too," she said.

"Have you ever done anything about it?" Donna asked.

Mrs. Cleaver stared blankly at the elegant blonde woman seated on her loveseat. _What could be done?_ She thought.

"When I was a nurse, things were exciting," Donna reflected. "I got to interact with interesting people—not just the milkman and the mailman and the store clerk."

"At least you had a profession," June said. "Besides college, I've never known anything but being Ward Cleaver's wife and Wally and Beaver's mother."

"If you never got married, what would you be doing right now?" Donna asked.

June froze. It was a question that plagued her, and one she was always afraid to answer.

"I would be an old maid still living with my parents," June said.

"Oh, I doubt that," Donna said. "What did you like to study in college?"

"Everything," June said. "I just liked being a student and writing papers, although my teachers didn't always appreciate the liberties I'd take with a theme. They said that until I was hired as a newspaper editor I should keep my opinions to myself."

"June, it's possible that if you hadn't gotten sidetracked by marriage you could have been a successful writer."

"Oh, don't be silly, Donna!"

"It's not too late, you know," Donna said.

Donna's words stuck with June the rest of the week. As she vacuumed the wall to wall living room carpet she reminisced about her college days. As she scrubbed the kitchen floor she recalled how much smarter she felt she was when she used her mind on a regular basis for things other than household budgeting. As she dusted her knickknacks and polished her fine silver, she wondered if it really wasn't too late.

The next day at dinner June wore one of her nicest dresses, the light gray linen one with white cuffs, and a single strand of pearls around her graceful neck. Her pale hair was freshly done at the beauty parlor that afternoon. She made pot roast in the style of her mother-in-law.

As she was serving Ward a second helping of beef, she began.

"Ward, I noticed that the Junior College is offering a writing class this term."

Ward was unruffled.

"Isn't Wally too young for Junior College?" he asked while slicing his meat with one of their good knives.

Wally's recently scrubbed ears perked up at the mention of his name. The 14 year old glanced sideways at his mother for clarification.

"Not for Wally- _I_ was thinking about taking it," June said quietly, just as Ward was about to take a bite.

"You?" Ward said, dropping his fork. It clinked loudly against the delicate china.

"Yes," said June, looking directly at Ward. Both Wally and his younger brother, Theodore (whom most people called 'Beaver') had stopped eating and both sat staring at this exchange between their parents with gaping mouths. June noticed their interest out of the corner of her eye. She knew Ward would have to be careful in his response.

"Do you have time?" Ward asked with just a hint of tension in his voice.

"It's on my bridge night. I can skip it for a few months."

"Is it expensive? We've already got a lot of-"

"No, dear. It's practically free," June interrupted. "Besides, I've been able to save a lot of money since the big chain grocery store moved to town."

Ward looked down from June's intent gaze and glanced around the perfectly set table. He did not look at Wally or Beaver. His eyes finally settled on his plate with the beautiful dinner that June had prepared for him.

"Well, I guess it would be all right. If you want to," Ward conceded and resumed eating his supper.

June blushed at her easy victory. Both Wally and Beaver offered to help their mother with the dishes that night, but it was Beaver's turn. Wally cornered Beaver and whispered to him before retreating to his room.

Beaver took a dripping wet plate from his mother's rubber-gloved hand and began to dry it with an embroidered kitchen towel. His forehead was creased and his eyes squinted in serious thought. His shoulders were tense.

"Say, Mom," he began.

"Yes, Beaver?"

"Why-ja wanna take that writin' class? Arncha little old for that?"

June smiled down at him.

"Oh, I don't know Beaver. One's never too old to learn," she said. Her voice had a particularly musical quality around the kitchen sink that Beaver liked.

"Yeah, I guess so." The seven-year-old stacked the plate on the counter and reached for another. "But, you're not gonna, _you know_ …" Beaver stopped and shifted his weight.

"What, Beaver?"

"Wally said that you might write about us and stuff and that people might read it," Beaver grimaced.

June laughed. "Now Beaver, I would never write anything embarrassing about you or Wally. You can stop worrying. We write about pretend people."

The creases on Beaver's forehead smoothed and his familiar grin reappeared. His tense shoulders relaxed, revealing his clean neck.

"Can I go upstairs now?" he said as he put the plate and dishtowel on the counter.

"But we haven't finished." June nodded to the remaining stack of dishes.

"Yeah, but I gotta tell Wally somethin'."

Within days June had enrolled at the Junior College. When she arrived home after her first class, Ward was reading the newspaper in the wing-back chair, his slippered feet on the ottoman and his pipe in his right hand. He looked up when June came in the door.

"How was class?" he asked politely.

"Great. The instructor is wonderful - Mr. Petry. Would you believe he is a writer for the Alan Brady Show?" June said this very carefully as she removed her elegant hat and matching gloves and tucked them neatly into the closet. June knew he prided himself on his sense of humor and had already hinted that her hysterical laughter while watching the late night variety show was disloyal.

"The Alan Brady Show?" Ward shifted uneasily in his chair. "Then why's he teaching at the Junior College?"

"They asked him to."

"Is that so," Ward paused. "So what are you supposed to write about?"

"Our first assignment is to write an essay about a pet peeve," June said.

"Is that so," Ward frowned. He put the pipe in his mouth, then took it out again. "Do you have any ideas?"

"A few," June said, noting to herself how much she disliked the smell of pipe smoke in the house.

Ward was still reading his paper.

"Ward, can I-"

"I've set up my old typewriter in the den for you." He said with just a quick glance up at her.

"Thank you," June blushed again. "Are the boys in bed?"

June spent much of the evening and the next day working on her assignment. She stared at the rich wood of the large maple desk and traced with her finger in and out of the grain. She worried about grammar and spelling, and referenced the dictionary often. When she finished, she had a three-page satirical piece about the joys of laundry day.

After that, she set to work on another piece strictly for herself, for fun. She was frightened at how easily the words came to her; these wild ideas and forbidden thoughts.

 _The passionate mailman hoisted May, the young widow, onto the large maple desk, knocking over the inkwell in the process. Her bare bottom absorbed the ink and_ _made wild abstract prints along the desk with the rhythm of their lovemaking. Letters and magazines fell like rain out of the mailman's sack_.

She laughed and tucked the story into her diary.

A few days later, after Wally and Beaver had gone off to bed, June met Ward in their immaculate garage. He was cleaning out the wooden toolbox he and Wally had made together when Wally was five.

"Ward, would you mind double-checking my manuscript for spelling and grammar errors?" She handed him the three-page laundry essay, neatly stapled at the left corner.

"I'd be glad to," said Ward, tucking the toolbox under his arm as he sat on his workbench.

June left him alone with her manuscript and went to the adjacent kitchen where she waited. She wiped her moist palms on her apron several times as she began to worry about her manuscript. She hadn't written anything since college, and thought it would show. When she heard Ward's unrestrained laughter coming from the garage, her heart sank. _He thinks it's terrible,_ she thought to herself.

She went to the garage to hear her criticism.

As soon as she opened the door, Ward rushed to her.

"Dear, this is marvelous!" he exclaimed.

"What?"

"This is really good. I didn't know you could write like this," he said.

"You really think it's good?" June had trouble believing him.

"Of course."

"You mean the grammar and spelling?" June asked.

"I mean the whole thing is good. It's funny, insightful, charming. It almost makes me want to help you with laundry day," he replied.

"Really?"

"If I had time," he quickly added. "Which I don't, of course."

June invited Donna over for coffee to thank her for encouraging her to take up writing. They sat in the June's tastefully decorated living room, both women wearing their 'everyday' dresses (Donna's had a full ¾ length skirt, June's was fitted) each accessorized by heels and pearls. The afternoon sun filtered through the tailored drapes and highlighted traces of dust on the porcelain figurine on the end table. The time June normally devoted to dusting she used for writing this week. She wondered if Donna noticed.

"I'm so happy for you, June," Donna said, with a hint of jealousy in her voice. "I wish there was something like that for me."

"I'm sure there's something," June said.

"No," Donna insisted. "I have already discussed it with Dr. Stone. He says no wife of his will be out working."

"How about volunteering?" June offered.

"They don't let you volunteer as a nurse. A candy-striper maybe, but that's even worse than being a housewife."

The two women sipped their coffee in awkward silence for several minutes before Donna continued.

"June, if you wanted Ward to think you were having an affair, how would you do it?"

"Why would I…"

"I think that maybe if I can get Dr. Stone to think I'm having an affair, that might help perk things up in my life."

"But what if he really thinks you did? He might divorce you!"

Donna's eyes sparkled. "He might," she said.

"Donna!"

"Sorry, June. But there must be something I can do to shake things up a bit. You know, let him know he doesn't know everything about me."

June refilled Donna's cup. Donna leaned back reflectively on the couch and began sucking on her pearl necklace. June marveled at Donna's beauty and understated sensuality. She felt there was nothing sensual about herself and wondered how Donna did it. They both sat there pondering until Donna had a revelation.

"What about my lingerie?" Donna said, leaning forward. "What if it were black?"

"Black?" June asked, moving closer to Donna.

"Black." Donna took a sip of coffee. "That's what those types of women wear. You know, the types who seduce men on a regular basis. The problem with us is, everything we own is white."

"You're right," June agreed. "Ward would flip if I suddenly started wearing black lingerie."

"Can you even buy black around here?" Donna mused.

"I doubt it," June said. "But I've got some black dye leftover from Beaver's Halloween costume."

The next morning, after their children had left for school, Donna returned to June's house. She brought a bag with a few pieces of her white lingerie. The two women giggled like schoolgirls as they filled June's laundry sink with scalding hot water. Donna dropped the dark powdered dye into the water while June stirred with the handle of a broomstick. When the dye was dissolved, Donna added her pure white brassieres, panties, garter belts, and slips.

"Keep stirring," June said, handing Donna the broom and leaving the laundry room. "I'll be right back."

When June returned, she had a white slip of her own along with a bra and panties. She threw them into the hot black liquid.

"As long as its here," June shrugged.

"We're so naughty!" Donna squealed.

"Yes," June gleemed. "It's kind of fun!"

That night, June put on her 'new' black negligée and wrapped herself tightly in the white chenille robe that she got last Mother's Day. When she entered the bedroom, Ward was just sliding his feet out of his slippers at the side of his twin bed. June closed the door behind her.

"Ward," she said slowly.

"Yes dear?" he said, looking up as he tucked the sheets around him.

June let her white robe fall to the floor. Ward's eyes popped as he stared at his wife. June turned off the light and approached Ward's bed. She heard his hand fumbling on the night stand until he found the small bedside lamp.

"Maybe we could leave the light on this time," he said, eyes caressing her.

On an unusually hot afternoon in early spring, Wally and his friend Eddie Haskell were hanging out in June's kitchen drinking some of her homemade lemonade. Eddie, a slim curly blond boy with an inclination for evil, was leaning on the counter across from Wally, telling him some of his best jokes. June stood invisibly at the sink rinsing off the lemon pulp from her wooden cutting board. Movement out the window caught her eye and she noticed that Ward was pulling into the driveway. June smiled.

"And then the rabbi said, 'Now, that's what I call a minyan!'"

Wally snorted out a few fake laughs and took another swig of lemonade.

"Boys, how about you head upstairs now," June said.

"Sure thing, mom," Wally said, nodding to Eddie to follow him.

Ward entered the kitchen through the garage. He was carrying a large bouquet of roses.

"Welcome home," June said, accepting the flowers. Ward kissed her for a long time.

That night, June worked on her next assignment. She was to write a story that featured animal characters interacting in human-like ways. Her confidence was growing and it was getting easier for her to write.

Afterwards, she wrote another story for herself.

 _It was a hot summer day. April's son was at an Eagle Scout meeting when his friend, Teddy Gaskell, stopped by. Teddy was not a Boy Scout. He was a very naughty young man, and April liked that. She invited him in knowing that neither her son nor her husband would be home for over an hour. She asked him to sit at the kitchen table while she poured him some lemonade._

" _I'm so hot!" April moaned as she unbuttoned the top few buttons of her dress, exposing her black lace bra. Teddy swallowed hard and stared at April's chest._

" _Aren't you hot?" she asked him._

" _Yes, Mrs. Machete."_

" _Let me help you, then." April straddled Teddy's loins and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Is that better?"_

" _Yes. Mrs. Machete," Teddy repeated, as his hands moved upward._

June giggled and locked the story in her diary.

"Mr. Petry called me this morning," June told Donna over coffee.

"Your writing instructor? What for?" Donna asked.

"He says he wants to speak with me about my writing. He asked me to meet him at his downtown office this afternoon."

"Are you sure he just wants to talk? Sounds like he is interested in more than your writing," Donna snickered.

"He's a married man!" June defended.

"You better wear you black bra, just in case," Donna said.

"I'll wear my black bra, but not for that reason."

It was a long drive to the city to get to Mr. Petry's office. June wasn't fond of driving in downtown traffic, but for some reason the black bra and panties underneath her gray linen dress made her feel like she could tackle anything.

She took the elevator to the 28th floor which housed the staff of the Alan Brady Show. A receptionist directed her to Mr. Petry's office. As she walked down the hall, she could feel her gloves growing damp from nervous perspiration. Her throat tightened and her knees began to buckle. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Come in!" a voice said behind the door. She recognized it as Mr. Petry's. She slowly opened the door and was startled when she saw Mr. Petry stretched out on all fours doing push-ups. And he was not alone. Nearby was a woman filing her nails on a sofa, and a man asleep in an armchair.

Mr. Petry finally looked up. When he saw it was June he quickly got up from the floor.

"Mrs. Cleaver!" he said, wiping the floor dust off his hands. He was a tall man in his early thirties, and his slender physique was accentuated by his slim fitting suit. As he approached June he nearly tripped over the rug but caught himself at the last minute.

"Please call me June," she insisted. She looked past him at his companions. The man awoke to the commotion and was beginning to stand. The woman put down her nail file and smiled inquisitively at June.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, Mr. Petry," June said.

"Call me Rob. June, I want you to meet my fellow writers. This is Sally Rogers and Buddy Sorrell."

"How do you do?" June said as she shook hands.

"This is the student I was telling you about," Rob said. Buddy and Sally's eyes brightened at the recognition. "Oh!" they said together.

Buddy looked June up and down. "Gee, Rob. I can see why you're teaching that writin' class." He let out a whistle. June blushed.

Sally and Buddy each grabbed one of June's arms and sat her between them on the couch. They both stared at her.

"You've been talking about me?" June asked, taking off her gloves.

"Yes, June. I hope you'll forgive me but I just had to share your work with them. We think it's hilarious!" Rob said.

"You do?" June tried to remember what she had written.

Sally took June's hand. "I loved the laundry piece! You've got a great gift for satire."

"Really?" June said.

"And your animal antics had me rolling," Buddy chuckled.

June was astounded.

"We'd like to use a few of them for the show this week," Rob announced.

"For the Alan Brady Show? _My_ stories?" June couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Yes. Debra Paget is guest-starring and we think your laundry piece would make a great sketch for her," Sally said.

"And Alan is just dying to be the wombat," Buddy added.

"You let Mr. Brady see my work too?" June was beginning to feel faint.

"We'd compensate you of course, at scale," said Rob. "If we get a new sponsor."

"You mean you want to pay me to use my stories?"

June's head was swimming. Her life, and her perception of herself was changing. When she signed up for the class, she was only hoping to get a passing grade; she never expected anything to come from it.

"So what do you say?" Rob asked, rubbing his palms together.

"I just don't know," June paused. "I should talk it over with my husband first…"

"That's one of the advantages of being single," Sally began. "I get to make my own decisions. It' about the only advantage, but it's a good one."

June thought about it. She would like to be able to make her own decisions. And Ward was generally supportive of her. Why shouldn't she be able to do this?

"Of course," she said, smiling. She hoped she had made the right decision.

On the night of the Alan Brady Show, she tucked Wally and Beaver into bed early and met Ward in the living room. He was reading the newspaper. She turned on the TV.

"Do you mind if I watch the Alan Brady Show?" she asked.

"Oh, June I really don't-"

"Debra Paget is on this week"

"Debra Paget?" Ward smiled dreamily, "I suppose it would be all right."

Ward put down the newspaper as June took a seat on the sofa. The show opened with Alan Brady in a costume that looked like a brown koala bear without ears or a tail.

"Is he supposed to be a wombat?" Ward asked, staring at the TV.

"Yes," June said, grinning.

The wombat was carrying a baseball bat and several baseballs. He tried to put the baseballs in his pouch, but since the pouch is upside down, the balls kept falling out, causing him to trip several times.

Ward chuckled. June watched him out of the corner of her eye. She could see the expression on his face change as the skit became more and more familiar to him. He turned to June while pointing at the TV.

"Say, isn't that your-"

June was too excited to let him finish.

"Yes!," she giggled. "Isn't it exciting?"

"But did he steal your idea?" Ward was starting to look upset.

"No, they had my permission. I'll even get paid once they line up a new sponsor."

He stared at the TV with his mouth open.

"Ward, they said they love my work and would like me to fill-in whenever one of the regular writers goes on vacation!"

"That's great," Ward said quietly. "I guess this means you're the funny one in the family from now on."

That night, Ward told June he needed to use the typewriter.

Donna brought June a bottle of champagne to celebrate her prime-time writing debut. Instead of coffee, they sipped champagne for their midday social. Neither women drank often, so they began feeling the effects of the alcohol quickly.

"June, what's the most embarrassing thing one of your kids has ever done?"

"I don't want to say," June said. "It's _too_ embarrassing!"

"Oh, come on," Donna pressed.

June sighed. "One time, Beaver's friend Whitey talked him into climbing that billboard for Zesto Soup to see if there was really soup in the giant steaming bowl."

Donna laughed. "I've seen that billboard," she said.

"He fell in and couldn't get out," June continued. "The firemen came and there was a huge crowd. It was even in the paper."

They sat quietly for a moment before Donna spoke.

"Haven't you ever wondered yourself how they get that bowl to steam like that?" Donna asked.

"Of course," June said. "It's a fascinating billboard."

"So why don't we?" Donna begged.

June stared at Donna and shuddered when she saw that Donna meant it.

"Oh, no," June protested. "I'm not going through that again."

"Come on. We'll just take a quick peak and then climb right back down."

Ward left work early. He drove downtown to the office of Mr. Petry.

"Come in, Mr. Cleaver," Rob said, as he opened his office door. "I'm Rob Petry."

Rob motioned Ward to join him at his desk.

"We were just leaving," Sally said, tugging Buddy's arm.

"We were?" he said.

Sally nudged him.

"Oh, yes. We uh, have to talk to Mel about something."

They exited hastily. Ward watched them leave.

"So what can I do for you, Mr. Cleaver?"

"Please call me Ward," he began. "I'm here to speak to you about my wife."

"June is a fine writer," Rob said as he folded his hands on his desk. "Is she as funny at home as she is on paper?"

"Not intentionally," Ward replied.

Rob laughed.

"I know what you mean. I've got a wife of my own at home," he said.

"The thing is, Mr. Petry, she's not the funniest one in the family," Ward said as he opened up his briefcase. He took out a few typewritten pages and handed them to Rob. "I'm pretty funny myself," Ward said.

Rob's face squirmed as he glanced over Ward's writing.

"So I see," Rob said.

"I think the one about the squirrel would be a great opener for Mr. Brady," Ward said, his face full of enthusiasm.

Rob put down the pages and tugged on his collar. He stood up and paced around the room, smoothing the back of his hair with his palm. Ward watched him with interest.

"The thing is Mr. Cleaver - Ward – we've already got plenty of writers here."

"But June said that you-"

"We've got room for _June_ …" Rob let his voice trail off.

Ward sighed. "But not for me?

Rob shook his head.

"Am I really that bad?" Ward asked.

"No. She's really that good."

Ward drove home somberly. As he turned the corner off Main Street towards their house, he noticed a crowd gathered in front of the Zesto soup billboard. In the early evening light, the enormous soup bowl towered above the spectators. He pulled over and approached the fire chief.

"Don't tell me that's Beaver up there again," Ward asked, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief.

"No, Mr. Cleaver," the fire chief said. "It's two drunk ladies this time."

Ward breathed a sigh of relief.

The ladder truck backed onto the grass in front of the billboard. The crowd parted to make room.

"That's one of the ladies' husbands over there," the fire chief said, pointing to a man about Ward's age wearing a white lab coat over a dark suit. Ward approached him.

"I understand your wife's in there," Ward said.

The man nodded bleakly.

"Don't worry. She'll be out in no time," Ward reassured him. "My son Beaver did the same thing a few weeks ago. Hi, I'm Ward Cleaver."

"Dr. Alex Stone."

Alex and Ward watched a fireman climb the ladder that stretched to the lip of the bowl.

"Who's with her?" Ward asked.

"Some friend of hers who keeps giving her wild ideas," Alex moaned. "Last week she dyed all her underwear black. This week I find her stuck in a billboard, drunk."

"Black, you say?" Ward said. His face clouded. He watched the firemen with special interest. They pulled Alex's wife out first. Alex rushed to her and tried to usher her to their vehicle, but a policeman stopped them for questioning.

The fireman went back up the ladder and Ward shifted nervously as he waited for the second woman to appear. When he saw it was June he sank to his knees, rubbing his forehead. He turned and sat down on the curb.

The fireman eased June to the ground. She noticed Ward on the curb and walked slowly to him.

"June, how could you?" he said. "Didn't Beaver teach you anything? It's one thing for a young boy to do it, but a grown woman? Honestly, June! What is your excuse?"

"I thought I'd be able to climb out," she said.

Dr. Stone came clambering over to them, dragging a police officer with him.

"It's all her fault! This is the woman who's been corrupting my wife!" he said, pointing to June.

Ward stood in front of June, blocking her from her accuser.

"Now wait a minute," he began. "My wife did nothing of the kind."

"My wife was a respectable mother before she got involved with her," Dr. Stone continued.

"I'm warning you, Alex. Don't you say another disparaging word against my wife," Ward threatened.

"Hussy!" Dr. Stone hissed at June.

"That does it," Ward said. He removed his jacket, unbuttoned his cuffs, and started rolling up his sleeves. Dr. Stone did the same.

"Oh, Ward. Please don't!" June begged.

The police officer let Ward get in a good upper-cut before stepping between them. Dr. Stone rubbed his aching jaw.

"Break it up, you two," the police officer said. "I'm gonna have to take both your wives down to the station for trespassing on private property."

June and Donna rode in the patrol car to the police station together. Their husbands each drove separately.

"You know, June," Donna began. "After all that, I still don't know how they get that bowl to steam."

They both laughed until their sides ached. June noticed the policeman's eyes glaring at them in the rearview mirror. She nudged Donna.

"Sorry," they said together.

June smiled as she looked out the patrol car window. She hoped that this wasn't the last time she and Donna would get in trouble together.


End file.
